


dancing with the devil 2.0

by valleyforgedown



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, maybe some violence later on, no definitely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6022156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valleyforgedown/pseuds/valleyforgedown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 2016 and everyone has a contingency plan for the zombie outbreak and ensuing apocalypse, courtesy of <i>The Walking Dead</i>, <i>World War Z</i>, and <i>Z Nation</i>.  Clarke is skeptical of it, but she too, has a plan.  Find a gun and blow their brains out.  Team up with friends and survive on Jasper and Monty’s stockpile of food because they’ve been, you know, preparing since forever.</p><p>Except, it’s 2016 and she doesn’t recall a zombie looking like that.  Unless Hollywood’s got it all wrong and zombies have horns and grow ten feet and look half-bull.</p><p>AU Clexa with lowkey Octavia/Raven.  Modern-day apocalypse, Greek mythology style.  Disclaimer for the entire story is posted only once in Chapter 1.</p><p>Revamped, hence the 2.0</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. day 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The 100 or its characters. I do not own anything else I may mention in this story that belongs to someone else. The story plot and any original characters do belong to me. Inspired by a lot of apolocalypic/action movies I’ve seen, so if there are inklings of something similar, I borrowed. As with all my stories, I research the shit out of everything, but I will make mistakes. Title taken from the song Devil, by Cash Cash.

 ----

**Mid-March 2016, Newark, NJ**

 

            The apartment building in which the Blake siblings live is as generic as the one immediately adjacent.  Brick and eight stories high, the Portico apartments are not top of the line, nor do they make the top twenty list of East Newark’s best.  They don’t even have any columns or porch-like structures.

            The only way the apartment complex has managed to stay in business the past fifteen years is by catering to the poor, broke college students who attend one of the local schools, Ark University; Octavia is just one of several such tenants.  Bellamy, despite graduating with his Masters in history three years ago, continues to share the rent.  He claims he’s too lazy to find an apartment for himself, but Clarke Griffin calls bullshit.  It is no secret he’s protective of his sister and believes the best way to keep her safe is to live in the same cramped apartment.

            Clarke hates everything about their apartment – from the creepy “doorman” (whom she firmly believes is just a homeless man dressing the part to earn a few tips) to the elevator that has been suspiciously out of order for as long as she can remember.  The worn out carpet has a stain that resembles a pile of vomit, carelessly cleaned.  She bangs her fist on the door of 3C again.  “Octavia!  You better not still be asleep!”

            This is why Clarke had insisted she get a copy of their apartment key.  But both siblings had denied her request.  Literally.  She’d written it out on a scrap piece of paper and had gotten it back with “DENIED” scrawled on it in big red letters.

            The door two apartments down opens and an elderly lady wearing a pink muumuu sticks her head out.  “Excuse me.  I have to ask you to quiet down, or I’ll be forced to call security.”  She then promptly shuts the door.  Loudly.

            “No one’s forcing you to do anything, lady.  Plus, I doubt this dump can even afford security,” Clarke mutters.

            Raven, wearing her usual red jacket, chuckles and pulls a bobby pin from her hair.  “Watch and learn, Griffin.”

            “Raven!  That’s breaking and entering.”

            She pauses.  “Are you going to call the cops on me?”

            “Will you freeze all my bras again if I do?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then no, I won’t.”

            Raven slips the pin into the door lock and wiggles it around.  It takes all of three seconds before there’s an audible _click_ and she opens the door.  “You know, it’s scary how easily you do that.  Remind me to change my locks to voice-activated…  On second thought, you could probably hack that, too.”

            “Got something to hide, Griffin?”

            Clarke scoffs and doesn’t bother to answer, instead opting to brush past her friend and enter the apartment.  She’s barely taken two steps forward when a loud warrior’s cry breaks the silence and her feet are kicked out from underneath her.  She lands hard on her ass and her head is quick to follow, though it thankfully lands on a plush rug.

            “Oh my god, Clarke?  What the fuck, man.  I thought you were a burglar!”

            “Octavia?”  Clarke groans, rolling to the side and rubbing the back of her head gingerly.  “What the fuck is your problem?”

            “Hey, O!  How’s-.  Whoa, what the fuck happened here?”

            “Raven, call the ambulance, I need medical emergency pronto!”

            “Oh stop, Clarke.  You’re fine.  You didn’t hit your head _that_ badly,” Octavia says, offering her hand and pulling Clarke up.

            The blond glares at her friend, ready to bite back a retort when Raven cuts in.  “Okay, guys.  Let’s all calm down.  O, get an ice pack for the wounded and Clarke, come sit with me on the couch.  Jesus, it’s only nine in the morning and it’s already turning into a shit show.”

            Clarke rubs her tailbone and winces, “At least Octavia is dressed.  Usually she’s still dead to the world by now.”  She raises her voice, “O!  Why the hell didn’t you answer your door the first couple times we knocked?”

            The brunette strolls in, blue ice pack in one hand.  “I was watching Gladiator and you know how Russell Crowe always affects me.”  The sultry smirk says it all and Clarke watches Raven roll her eyes.

            “And the fuckin’ ninja move you used on me?”

            “I was also watching Rush Hour 3,” she mutters.

            Clarke presses the pack to the back of her head and sighs at the relief it brings.  “In case you were wondering, O, we’re still going to the museum.  Just because I’m critically injured does not mean we’re not going.”

            Both Octavia and Raven groan.  “Hey, would you rather me go by myself to downtown New York where who-knows-what could happen to me?”  They sulkily shake their heads.  “Ten minutes, tops.”

-

            Thirty minutes later, Clarke is walking down the stairs to the subway with Octavia and Raven bickering behind her about which of them have bigger muscles.  She doesn't know why because it involves them stripping off their jackets and rolling up their sleeves as much as possible in the mid-forties degree weather.

            She waves her pass over the card reader and slips it back into her wallet which in turn goes into her backpack.  The two other girls shove each other, racing for one turnstile even though there are four open ones.  She rolls her eyes because honestly?  She’s surrounded by children.

            The wait isn’t long for the next rail train to arrive.  She drapes her arms around both girls’ shoulders and grins.  “Have I told you how happy I am you two are coming with me?”

            “No, but you can show it by buying us a bottle of Patron and Crown Royal,” Raven beams.

            “We can all purchase alcohol, dumbass.”

            “But we’re not the ones with a badass doctor for a mom who makes six figures,” Octavia points out.

            Clarke rolls her eyes and dips her head in reluctant agreement.  Her ears ring from the intensity of their squeals.  “God, what are you?  Children who just found out ice cream is for dinner?”

            They both punch her in the arm and she slips onto the train cart as soon as it opens, disregarding the passengers coming off and earning a few angry glares.  Whatever, she’s running away from bullies, hello!  Clarke scans the car and chooses the only seat that has another empty seat beside it.  She watches, amused, as her friends squabble over who will sit next to her.  “Gee, guys.  Sure know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

            Her words have the desired effect; Octavia shuts up and sits between two strangers, smirking at Clarke.  Raven joins her blond friend and gives Octavia the finger.  A spectating mother frowns at her and turns her son’s gaze elsewhere.

            The hour long ride passes without incident.  Clarke watches Raven watch Octavia who is watching vines on her phone.

            “I didn’t know you were interested in vines,” she says casually.

            “I couldn't care less about them.  I’m watching – ” Raven catches herself and punches Clarke in the arm, hard.  “You bitch.”

            Clarke is pleased by the very faint tinge of pink she sees on her best friend’s cheeks and sing songs, “Takes one to know one, babe.”

            Raven doesn’t speak to her for the rest of the ride.  Clarke watches the trees and houses pass by, feeling very pleased with herself.

            When the train stops, she leads them off and onto the streets of New York City, mindful of the homeless man who is always sitting a foot outside the train station door.  She’s visited the museum enough times that her mother – the great Doctor Abigail Griffin – bought her a five-year membership that she renews when it expires.  Clarke grew up very comfortably thanks to her mother’s job as the Chief of Medicine at the New York Presbyterian Hospital and her late father’s job as an engineer.  She’s never been one to flaunt her financial status; whenever her friends joke her about it, she can’t quite keep the embarrassed blush off her cheeks.

            They walk two blocks and as they ascend the outside steps, Clarke is hit with a wave of nostalgia.  She looks at the exact spot – in front of the innermost left column –she had had her picture taken with her father when she was eleven.  It had been her first time visiting and after seeing the exhibit on the impressionists of the 19th century, she fell in love with art.  It had been more than just pretty colors and talent to her, even at such a young age.

            “Come on, Griffin.  I ain’t holding this damn door forever!”  Octavia’s crassness breaks the blond out of her thoughts.

            “Always a gentlewoman,” she teases as she steps through and enters the museum.

            The atrium is huge.  Tall, thick stone columns line the edges and the ceiling is littered with arches.  She can see the second floor and at ten-thirty in the morning, the museum is already thrumming with visitors.

            “Jesus!  What’s with all the flowers?” Raven tilts her head back.

            There’s an octahedral shaped front desk greets them, the large plant arrangement that’s placed in the center looms over the receptionists.  The flowers remind Clarke of pink dogwood blooms, but she knows they’re cherry blossoms.

            “It’s called art, Ray,” Octavia chides.  “At least, I think that’s what it is.”

            Clarke breezes past them muttering, “You got it, O.”  They go through the security gate one at a time and once through, she presents her membership card to one of the men behind the welcome desk.  “These two are with me.”

            The man takes her card and scans it.  “Welcome, Miss Griffin.  In addition to our permanent exhibits, we have a temporary exhibit on ancient Greek mythology.  It’s actually the last day for the exhibit!  On display are weapons and items mentioned in the myths.  There are also pottery and sculptures depicting the ancient Greeks’ beliefs in the gods and goddess of the time.  We also have the Nicholas M. Salgo silver collection and the Roof Garden Commission by Pierre Huyghe.  Here’s a catalogue with every exhibit in the museum at this time.”

            Octavia cuts in front of Clarke and snatches both the card and pamphlet out of the man’s hand, tossing a “Thanks!” over her shoulder and flouncing away, Raven on her heels.  Mortified, Clarke apologizes profusely and jogs after them.

            “Do you _have_ to act like such children?”

            Raven grabs the map from Octavia and jabs her finger at one section.  “They have one where car parts are made into art?  O, we are _so_ going there.  Clarke, we’ll meet up with you later, yeah?  Go do your project stuff.”  In less than three seconds, the pair of them are giggling down a hallway, leaving Clarke to call after them, “Don’t do anything stupid!”

            She ignores the looks from other patrons and adjusts her backpack.  She meanders through the museum, passing through the permanent exhibits she’s seen at least five times.  The only thing of relative importance is the shades pulled down to block any sunlight from coming in.  It’s odd since there’s no construction outside, nor any window decorating.

            It doesn’t take her long to find the Greek mythology exhibit.  It’s in the more popular room used for special exhibits on the second floor.  One huge, long room.

            Clarke circles the room slowly, taking the time to read the informational blurbs posted beside each display.  Thanks to her seventh grade English curriculum on _The Odyssey_ , and the many modern remakes – _Immortals, Clash of the Titans, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Lost Girl,_ and of course the beloved Disney classic _Hercules_ – Clarke is very familiar with the ideas surrounding the Greek mythologies.  She recognizes several of the items displayed, such as the Golden Fleece, the Bag of Wind, and Pandora’s box, though she doubts the authenticity.  After all, myths are just myths, right?

            The quiet gasp of a child catches Clarke’s attention and she walks over.  A shield, most likely made of brass, rests against a rack.  While the border design is amazing and causes Clarke’s stomach to roil with jealousy at the skill, that’s not what is most fascinating.  No, it’s definitely the face surrounded by snakes.  A quick glance at the sign tells Clarke all she needs to know; the rest she recalls from movies.  The Aegis, Zeus’ shield, but more often used by Athena.

            She moves on from the actual artifacts to pottery, sculptures and drawings of the Ancient Greek people.  She stands in front of a worn sheet of paper, staring at the detail and skill of the drawing.  It’s a staff with two snakes wrapped around it.  The wings at the top of the rod give it away – Hermes’ fabled staff.  Clarke leans closer, taking in the delicate strokes of ink.  She can picture the artist using a cliché feathered quill and dipping it into a bottle of ink.

            She decides on the next to last piece of pottery.  It’s a _lekythos_ , used for holding olive oil.  Mostly dark brown, it stands a little over a foot tall.  The _lekythos_ shows Hermes, identified by the wings on his ankles, presumably running (flying?) from something.  While his staff doesn’t have wings on it, it’s not hard for Clarke to recognize it.

            There’s no way she’d be able to sketch the few pieces she wants in one trip, especially with the exhibit leaving after today and the people milling around.  So, she snaps pictures of them – sans flash – and returns to the bench, smiling at an older couple in their seventies, also seated.  Clarke sits Indian-style and balances her sketchbook on her right thigh, her phone in front of her legs.  Focusing on the picture of the _lekythos_ , she picks up her pencil with her left hand and begins to sketch very light lines.

            Clarke draws a near perfect mirrored curve, completing the delicate neck of the vessel.  When she’s carefully studying the sharp cut of the base, something catches her eye.  A young man her age stands out starkly from the rest of the visiting patrons.  It’s mostly due to his outfit.  Wearing a suit amidst sulky teenagers, haggard parents, and conservative seniors definitely makes him… noticeable.  His long brown hair is disgustingly over-gelled and Clarke thinks he looks utterly creepy.

            She sweeps her gaze over the other people and returns to her drawing.  She’s just aiming for a sketch, catching all the minute details she can while being able to see the _lekythos_ in person.  Clarke focuses on the wrinkles of Hermes’ toga, her hand steady as she draws a near perfect copy.

            “Oh my goodness, that looks amazing!”

            The blond looks up from her work.  Of the couple seated beside her, the man is peering at her paper.  Clarke smiles and dips her head in thanks.  The man takes this encouragement to further engage her.  “So you’re an artist?”

            “I’m working on it.”  When the man’s wife leans close, Clarke feels obliged to continue.  “I’m a senior at Ark University.  This is for my final project in one of my classes.”

            The woman adjusts her glasses.  “You don’t say!  I went there when it had just started, back in…  When was it?  Must have been around the nineteen-fifties.  Which medium do you prefer?”

            “Pencil and graphite, but I do like acrylics and oil.  Are you an artist?”  It wasn’t often people asked about mediums.

            “Oh no, but my late sister was.  She loved acrylics.  It warms my heart to see young artists.”

            Clarke gestures around them, “With the number of school kids I’ve seen today, I’m sure you’ll continue to.  This museum is what inspired me.”  She shrugs lightly and returns to her work because she has a feeling Raven and Octavia must be dying and will be coming to find her soon.  Thirty minutes later with no sign of her friends, she stretches her arms, working out the muscles in her left hand.  Her sketch is mostly finished; nothing that can’t be continued at her apartment.

            Clarke sends Octavia a text (she’s more likely to answer than Raven).  She packs up her bag and swings it over her shoulder.  Just as she’s about to bid the couple farewell, the lights in the room go out with a resounding _click_.

            Several small children scream and the entire room is cloaked in darkness, thanks to the shades over the windows in the surrounding rooms.  Echoes of similar exclamations sound throughout the entire building.  People start to move rapidly, pushing Clarke to the side this way and that.

            Someone raises their voice over the din.  “Attention guests.  Please remain calm and follow the emergency exit signs downstairs.  Our staff have flashlights and will help guide you towards the exit.  Please exit out of the northern most entranceway.  And again, please remain calm.”

            Clarke grips her backpack tighter and falls in line with the flow of people.  Most have taken their phones out and turned on the flashlight app.  They’ve lowered their voices to low murmurs and she catches a little boy asking his father, “Is there going to be a movie?”

            The blond shuffles along, just passing the Aegis, when someone slams roughly into her shoulder, walking in the opposite direction.  She whirls around and someone’s phone flashlight illuminates the side of the perpetrator’s face.  It’s the guy in the suit, and he continues walking, ignoring her indignant, “Excuse you too, asshole!”

            Clarke garners a few dirty looks for her language – “There are children here, miss!” – and hastily apologizes.  Her forehead creases as she wonders about the guy.  She realizes it too late.  When she turns to find him, there’s no sign of his greasy head.  Why wasn’t he following everyone else to the exit?  And what was with that stupid smirk on his stupid creepy face?

            The pace picks up and soon Clarke is descending the stairs.  Her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

 

**Octavia**

where the hell are you??

 

**Clarke**

coming down the stairs.  almost there, where are you guys?  Raven’s w you right?

 

**Octavia**

yes.  right outside, we’ll find your blond ass.

 

            As she’s walking down the stairs, Clarke looks at all of the people on the first floor.  It is no different than the second; barely contained chaos, some shoving each other.  She squints when the shades _finally_ start to lift, the mid-day sunlight streaming in.  People cheer and become more aggressive in their efforts to evacuate the building, Clarke included.  The security guards, armed with only a nightstick, look close to giving up on trying to foster some semblance of order.

            Clarke is in the middle of the throng that spills out of the museum’s front doors, immediately scanning those gathered for her friends.

            “Clarke!”

            She whips around and follows the voice.  Raven’s, she’s positive.  She brings a hand up to block the sun and find them…  perched on top of a column’s base.  Octavia is currently trying to scale it, and Clarke is almost positive Raven is spotting her.  Her ass, that is.  Clarke makes her way over to the base and tosses her bag up.  Bracing both hands on the stone, she lifts herself up with a huff.  It’s at least four feet high and she grudgingly accepts Raven’s hand to help her the rest of the way.

            “I’m surprised you two haven’t been asked to get off.”

            Raven mumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “If only.”

            Octavia gives up, wiping her hands on her pants.  “The guards are too busy making sure everyone gets out.”  She nudges Clarke.  “Have any idea what happened?  Raven doesn’t think it was a power outage.”

            “Nah.  When the lights went out, it sounded more like someone turned off the power intentionally.  At the power switch.”  Raven fiddles on her phone, most likely Twitter.  “I’m seeing if anyone knows anything yet.”

            “It literally _just_ happened.”

            “One word, Griffin:  Twitter.”

            Clarke sits and watches the people leaving the museum.  Almost everyone is lingering, no doubt wondering what happened.  Octavia joins her and taps her feet against the side of the pillar.

            “You get your drawing done?”

            “Sorta.  Today was the last day of the Greek exhibit.  Poor planning on my part.  But I think it’ll be enough to finish my project.”

            “It’s a traveling exhibit, right?  So if you needed to see the stuff again, you could just take a trip,” Octavia suggests.

            “This is why I keep you around, O.  You’re so damn –”

            “World’s creepiest creep, guys.  Two o’clock.”

            Clarke follows Raven’s gaze and nearly falls off the column’s base.  “I’ve seen him before.  Twice.  He was in the room with me, but he didn’t go out with everyone else.”

            “Obviously found a different way,” Raven mutters.

            Clarke tracks the suit, watches as he turns a corner and disappears.  A few seconds later, five police cars park outside the museum.

            “Woah, what are the coppers doing here?”

            Both Clarke and Raven turn to Octavia.  “What?”

            Raven rolls her eyes.  “You’re the intelligence analyst major.”

            “Well, for that many to show up, there must’ve been like a kidnapping, or murder, or theft or something more than a power outage.”

            Ten minutes pass before anything happens.  The moderate murmuring of the crowd increases until someone asks loudly, “Do they know who stole it?”

            “Nice guess, Octavia,” Raven grins.

            More police have shown up and they’re starting to put up the yellow caution tape.  Clarke slips from the pillar, boots landing on the ground with a solid _thump_.  She waves off her friends’ confused inquiries, tossing a promise of a quick return over her shoulder.  She weaves through people and catches snippets of conversations.

            “Yeah, some Greek exhibit.”

            “I don’t know why anyone would wanna steal a stone?”

            “I saw a creepy old man in the gift shop.”

            “The police are asking if anyone saw something suspicious.”

            Clarke manages to make it to the front of the crowd, right to the closed museum doors.  Several police officers stand in position, some on crowd control and others talking to patrons individually.

            “Excuse me?  I think I might have seen something,” the blond makes eye contact with an officer.  He points to the ones with notepads and she nods.

            She just can’t shake the feeling that the guy in the suit is somehow involved.  She waits until one of the officers is free.

            “Hello, ma’am.”

            Clarke wastes no time.  “I was in the Greek exhibit when the lights went out and I saw a man around my age – early twenties – in a suit and tie.  He bumped me and went the other direction.  And like right before you guys came, he went down the street and turned left on Park Avenue.”

            The officer, a middle-aged man, looks skeptical.  Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes because hello, she doesn’t have to help them.  “Believe me, or not.  It just seemed fishy to me.”

            She turns to return to Octavia and Raven, but he touches her arm.  “Wait.  Can you describe him?”

            Clarke points to his pen and notepad.  “I can do you one better.  I can draw him for you.”

 

\--

            “Holy shit.  Clarke, you’re on the news!”

            Clarke hands the pizza boy a twenty and closes the door, waltzing into the living room triumphantly.  “Pizza’s here, babe.”

            Raven twists and leans over the back of the couch, all grabby hands.  “Ooh, gimme, gimme!”

            Clarke flaps her hand, “Scooch.”  When Raven obeys, she sits and opens the pizza box.  “One large cheese with Italian sausage, jalapeños, tomatoes and extra basil.”

            They choose a slice and bite into it at the same time.  Clarke suppresses a moan, but Raven holds nothing back.  It’s nothing Clarke hasn’t heard before, honestly.

            “So,” she mumbles around her bite.  “What’s this about me on the news?”

            Raven unmutes the television.

            “The police are still searching for the person who stole the Baetylus stone from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Their primary suspect is a man in his early twenties.”  Beside the news reporter, a drawing – Clarke’s drawing – pops up.  “The Baetylus stone is from the temporary ancient Greek exhibit.  However, with the theft, the curator says the exhibit will be staying until the stone is recovered.  The Metropolitan Museum of Art is one of several museums worldwide that is hosting an ancient Greek exhibit.  A museum representative says while this specific exhibit will be closed indefinitely, the other exhibits are open to the public.  I’m Stacy Myers.  Back to you, David.”

            Clarke swallows a bite.  “Damn, I didn’t think they’d use my drawing.  Or that he’d be the primary suspect.”

            Raven hums in agreement, thumbs tapping on her phone.  “So I looked up that batelis stone thing.  According to Wikipedia-”

            “Which has the credibility of a toddler,” Clarke mutters.

            “ _Ahem_.  It’s some sacred stone that’s ‘endowed with life.’  Kinda a symbol for the Greek gods.”

            Clarke yawns and switches the television to Hoarders.  She grabs another slice of pizza and snuggles into Raven’s side.  She’s over the excitement of the robbery.

            They eat and watch in silence until Raven pokes Clarke’s cheek.  “You know, when we first decided to room together, I had a nightmare that you had been on this show, but I didn’t know until we moved in.”

            Clarke wrinkles her nose, causing the tiny scar on the bridge of it to show.  “Gross.  I’m so neat.”

            “Neat for an artist geek.  I’ve seen those studios.  Nothing neat about that.”

            “Says you.  Your garage is just nuts and bolts and tools _everywhere_.”

            Raven wraps an arm fondly around Clarke’s body.  “Easier to grab.  More work if I have to take them from drawers and shit.  Besides, my organization skills aren’t what counts.”

            “I know.  You’re the best mechanic in East Newark.  Everyone knows.”

            “Probably the whole city,” Raven muses.

            Clarke takes another bite and checks the time.  Ten o’clock.  “Bedtime soon.”

            “Math at eight, right?”

            “Yes.  Stupid gen-ed.  Can’t wait to graduate.”

            “I am kinda a math genius, you know?  Just say the word and the talented and smart Raven Reyes will be at your service.  Besides, you’ve got like two more months and you’re free.”

            Clarke puts her slice down and rests her head in Raven’s lap.  “Then graduate school,” she mumbles, the epitome of Grumpy Cat.

            “Hey, you’ve got those two big galleries looking at your work, so you could just skip it?”

            Clarke shrugs.  “Got a showing in the summer.”  She yawns again.  “You gon’ be there?”

            “Duh.”  Raven lifts Clarke’s head up.  “Time for bed.  Let’s go, Griffin.”

            Together, they stumble into Clarke’s room.  There’s no doubt whose room it is.  The walls are painted a light blue, with various doodles and drawings sketched on.  Clarke collapses on her bed and Raven helps her in, taking off the fuzzy socks and the hair tie.  Blond hair tumbles down and when her roommate makes to leave, Clarke throws her arm out.  “Snuggles ‘til I fall ‘sleep?”

            She blinks her eyes open and watches Raven shake her head and walk back, pulling the covers over both of them.  Clarke tucks her head under Raven’s chin and sighs happily.  Honestly, the surprise friendship that resulted from Finn’s cheating is definitely one of the best things that’s ever happened.

            The last thing Clarke remembers before drifting off is Raven singing under her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : Hello guys. I wasn’t happy with my previous attempt at this story, so I scrapped most of what I had planned and am starting fresh. Please share around, we all need more clexa in our lives! Feel free to stop by on tumblr and say hey! I’ve got a couple “deleted scenes” that I might post on there if anyone’s interested. This chapter was beta’d by Sparks80. Hope you guys enjoyed, xoxo


	2. day 7

\----

**Mid-March 2016, Newark, NJ**

 

            Clarke checks her watch – it was Jake’s before he gave it to her for her eighteenth – for the second time in less than a minute.  Her Advanced Figure Drawing professor is running over and the other twenty students are equally as restless as Clarke.  Even the nude – now covered by a bath robe – model is shifting on the couch, though where she has to be with no clothes on, Clarke hasn’t the faintest idea.

            Her next class is on the opposite side of campus, nothing a short bus ride can’t fix, but she needs to be at the bus stop – time check again – _right now_ if she hopes to be on time.  Clarke decides to take charge, since no one else seems to be stepping up.  Stupid, since she thought they were past middle school scared-to-interrupt-the-teacher antics.  She nearly loses her arm, she throws it into the air so hard, but she needs to catch her professor’s attention.

            “Oh, yes, Miss Griffin?”

            She truly respects the woman, really, but her genuine obliviousness to all things urgent is maddening.  “Class is over, ma’am.”

            The woman looks at the classroom clock.  “Why, yes it is!  Class dismissed.  Remember: your projects are due in two weeks!”

            The room fills with chair squeaks and backpack zipping.  Clarke shoves her binder into her bag and huffs it to the bus stop.  “Shit.”  She’s missed the ten-twenty bus.

            “It just left like, two minutes before you got here.”

            The boy, absolutely reeking of _freshman_ , is holding one earbud in his hand, the other securely in his ear.  His dirty blond hair is mussed in a way only someone who’s trying to look mussed can achieve.  One side of his mouth is curled up in what he probably assumes is a seductive grin.  Clarke smiles tightly and looks down the road.

            One good thing about the bus system is that there are a lot of buses, so the wait is short; otherwise Clarke would resort to making the ten-minute trek, and she does _not_ trek.  Or really any form of strenuous exercise.  Unless she is being chased by an axe-murderer, then Clarke Griffin will run her ass off.  For now, she’ll stick with yoga and Pilates.

            The route 7 bus pulls around the bend and Clarke sighs with relief; she’ll only be a few minutes late.  The majority of the seats are empty and she sinks into one, starting a game of 1010! on her phone.  The bus starts moving, only to abruptly halt, forcing Clarke to fling her hand out, bracing against the seat in front.

            “Damn.”

            It’s the freshman, and she resists the strong urge to roll her eyes.  She perks up when the reason for the sudden stop becomes clear.

            “Monty!”

            He swivels towards her, all smiles, and takes the seat in front, twisting around to talk.  “Oh good, we can walk in late together.”  His relief is palpable, bless him.

            The bus ride is short, but just long enough for the freshman to lean across the aisle and say to Clarke, “I’m Sterling.”

            Monty tries his best to cover his chortle with a cough because he _knows_ Clarke.  She rolls her eyes at him, barely containing a smirk.  This isn’t new, having boys come on to her, but she’s late for class and has more important things to do than stroke some insecure boy’s ego and frankly she’s tired of guys thinking a compliment here and a charming smile there will make her drop her panties because, _no_.  She might be the ultimate white girl – blond, blue eyes, boobs and an ass, but in no way does that mean she’s _easy_.  So, for the record, he totally deserves what’s coming.

            Clarke plasters on a sickly sweet smile, feigning demureness.  Looking up at him under her eyelashes, she replies, “Clarke.  I really like guys with unique names.”  She rakes her gaze down his body.  When he puffs out and shifts his hand on the back of her seat, she nearly scoffs at how easy _he_ is.  Her and Monty’s stop is coming up soon.

            She leans closer, enough that they’re almost breathing the same air.  His blue eyes are flitting from her eyes to her lips and she can nearly feel him thrumming with excitement.  Just when his hand comes to rest high on her thigh, the bus jerks to a stop.  Their stop.  Clarke stands abruptly, almost hitting Sterling in the head, her smile gone.  Her eyes are steely as she glares down at him and raises her voice so the other passengers can clearly hear: “Get your hand off me!”  Her voice wavers and she pushes past Monty, exiting the bus in less than five seconds.

            Clarke waits until the bus is gone before letting loose, Monty joining in.

            “Shit, Clarke.  I forgot how terrifyingly evil you can be when you try.”

            She wipes under her eyes, tears from laughing.  Some might argue she was unnecessarily cruel, but life ain’t cupcakes and roses.  “Come on, we’ve got two minutes.”

 

-

 

            They manage to slip into the large lecture hall relatively unnoticed and only five minutes late.  Clarke hates this class, hates the concept of General Education classes, really.

            She leads the way to a few open seats, shuffling past those already seated.  She and Monty battle briefly over who has claim to the armrest between them.  With an exaggerated lift of her left hand, she wins.

            Despite her bemoaning the class, Clarke takes studious notes and pays close attention to the professor.  He’s lecturing about the Civil War and is clearly a _huge_ fan of Abraham Lincoln, the way he keeps raving about how Abe did what no other president of his time dared to do.

            The pace at which the professor teaches, changing PowerPoint slides faster than Clarke goes through a pack of Faber-Castell 9000 graphite pencils, means her usually neat handwriting suffers.  She’s not alone.  Monty is scribbling furiously, occasionally brushing his fringe away from his eyes.  Her phone dings and she swears quietly, turning it on silent.

 

**Raven**

going to the store.  did you put everything on the list?

 

**Clarke**

get avocados, i’ll make guac tonight

 

**Raven**

you don’t have Pringles down.  want me to get some?

 

**Clarke**

no, trying to eat healthy remember?  cleanse our palette?

 

**Raven**

how can i forget?  our pantry is filled with organic shit

 

**Clarke**

love u too.  see you at home

 

            She returns to her notes, peering over at Monty’s notebook to copy what she’d missed.

            “New boyfriend?”

            Clarke huffs a laugh.  “Raven.  She’s going to the store.”

            “Oh, that reminds me – I’ve gotta go after my last class today.”

            One of Clarke’s immaculate eyebrows quirks up.  “Why?  Your guestroom is literally filled with food.”

            “That’s our emergency supply for the zombie apocalypse,” Monty explains, a silent _duh_ hanging between them.  He shrugs and adds, “I need to get food for _now_.  Jasper and Finn ate the last pizza rolls.”

            Clarke does nothing to hide her eye roll.  “I don’t understand how you boys are still living.”

            Monty hunches over to copy what the professor has drawn on the board: some civil war battle strategy layout.  Clarke has no trouble drawing a miniature version on to her notebook.

            “We survive on Finn’s mom’s home cooking.  She sends a dish back with Finn when he visits her every weekend.”

            Clarke remembers Mrs. Collins’ cooking and how good her chicken pot pie tastes.  She also remembers joining Finn on those visits.  “You lucky asses.”

            Monty smiles and they return to frantically taking notes.

 

-

            Twenty minutes later, class is dismissed and Clarke is putting her pen away.  Monty follows her along the aisle and out the door.  He touches her arm lightly.  “Do you want to grab lunch?  I have an hour and a half before my next class.”

            Clarke shakes her head.  “Sorry.  I’m meeting Bellamy for lunch.  I’m done for the day and not about to spend more time on campus than necessary.”

            He waves her off with an easy smile.  “No worries, I understand.  I’ll see you later.”

            They part ways, Monty presumably to the dining hall and Clarke to the parking lot.  She dumps her backpack in the backseat of her Acura TSX.  It had been a twenty-first birthday gift from her mom and while Clarke had protested, Abby had ended the discussion with, “Your car is on its last leg.  Every month there’s something else broken and it’ll cost more to keep fixing it than it will to just buy a new one.  So, just accept this, like any other college kid would, okay?”  She had pressed a kiss to Clarke’s cheek and that was that.

            Clarke makes the twenty-minute drive to Elizabeth, New Jersey where Bellamy teaches at Mount Weather College.  She never misses the opportunity to tease him about it, partly because it’s the rival school of Ark University and partly because he is not even ten years older than most of his students and she just _knows_ most are young women who have absolutely no interest in ancient Roman civilization.

            Clarke parks beside Bellamy’s Ford pickup, smirking at the sticker on the rear window: _Octavia > Augustus_.  Raven had found it online and when she gave it to Octavia, Octavia had sprinted outside and slapped it on the truck.  When Bellamy had balked at it, saying it was _his_ car, she had laughed and retorted, “Big brother, we _share_ the damn thing.  Besides, are you saying that Augusts is better than me?”

            Bellamy had had a bruise on his arm the next few days.

            Clarke enters the restaurant and beelines it for their usual table.  His back is to her and she reaches over, snatching the paper out from under his nose.  He whips around, yanking his glasses off.  Clarke watches as his eyes change from squinting in anger to relaxed, recognizing her.

            She walks around the table, reading from the paper.  “‘I think it was Alexander the Great who helped the Roman empire grow.  I remember you talking in class and thought he was good looking.’”  Clarke sits down and tosses the sheet back, scoffing.  “Bellamy, please tell me you’re giving this chick an F.”

            He looks genuinely wounded, like a kicked puppy.  “She came to my office hours and we discussed reasons for Rome’s successful expansion.  I don’t know why she got it wrong on the test.”

            Clarke slouches in her chair, one hand gripping the back and the other coming to press against her forehead.  She raises her voice an octave.  “Oh Mr. Blake, please help me.  I don’t understand this.  Can you explain it to me?  But I’m not going to listen; I’ll be too busy gazing into your beautiful eyes and day dreaming about your hot bo-”

            Her eyes are close so she doesn’t see him coming.  One second she’s showing off her acting skills and the next she’s on the floor of Panera.  Bellamy is smiling and offering a hand, which she accepts, making sure to punch him afterwards.  He rubs his chest for her benefit.  “Let’s get some food.”

            Together, they walk to the line and when there’s an open register, he defers to her.  Clarke steps forward and orders a grilled chicken Caesar salad because she was serious when she told Raven she’s trying to eat better.

            She pays and waits by the counter; her salad will not take long to prepare.  Bellamy’s double roasted turkey and avocado BLT on the other hand…  Only a few minutes have passed when the buzzer in her hand goes off.  One of the kitchen staff grunts her order and Clarke stops by the drink machine on her way back to the table.  Bellamy has cleared it of his papers and is typing on his phone.

            “New girlfriend?”

            It must be, judging by how quickly he jabs the home button.  He thinks all those freckles on his face can hide a blush, but Clarke knows better.  She knows _him_.  She dismisses his fumbling excuse about planning a surprise party for Octavia and he knows how close Clarke and Octavia are, so that’s why all the secrecy.

            “Right,” she drawls.  “Octavia’s birthday which we celebrated last month.”

            He is saved by his buzzer and nearly runs an elderly woman over in his haste to escape Clarke’s shrewd gaze.  She laughs.

 

-

            Their plates are pushed to the side, all but licked clean.

            “I don’t believe you.”

            Clarke leans forward in her seat, exasperated.  “That’s because you want to see the best in people.  I’m telling you, as a young woman just like most of your students, I wouldn’t take a class on ancient Rome if my professor was a stuffy old man.  Bellamy, say it with me: ‘They are in my class because they think I am hot and want to bang me.’”

            He shakes his head, a hint of a smile forming.  “I’m beginning to think it’s _you_ who wants to get with me, Clarke.”  He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head, ensuring his muscles could be seen even through his button down.

            Clarke rears back and pretends to throw up over the table.  A young boy gawks at her and she stops.  “That is _the_ craziest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you say a lot of crazy shit.  You’re practically my brother, one I never wanted.  Gross, Bellamy.  Besides, even _if_ I liked you like that, which I don’t, I’m way too busy for a relationship.  That’s partly why Finn and I broke up.”

            It’s Bellamy’s turn to call bullshit.  “And because of that stint he pulled.”

            “And that, yes.  But things had been going downhill before that day.  He was too intense and way more into me than I was him.”

            It’s a legendary story among her friends, one they can all laugh about now (Finn included, though he still tries to defend himself and turns tomato red).  Six months ago, Clarke had been bed-ridden, sick with a severe stomach flu.  She hadn’t been able to do much without constantly throwing up.

            Bellamy had come over at his sister’s behest; Raven had fled the contamination scene because she couldn’t afford to fall ill with two major side projects she had going.  Bellamy had gotten the same flu a month before so he was relatively safe.  Clarke hadn’t been in any condition to text anyone with her status and when Finn’s texts had gone unanswered for a day, he had called the police, who sent firemen to her apartment under the assumption that she lay dead somewhere.  They had kicked her door in, only to find her coughing up her lunch into a bucket while Bellamy rubbed her back.

            Needless to say, that was the end of Clarke and Finn’s relationship, his excuse of “I was worried about you” falling on deaf ears.  He hadn’t thought of texting Raven, Octavia, or Bellamy.

            “He still thinks you’ll get back together with him,” Bellamy shrugs.

            Clarke rubs her temple, “Well, I’m not.  And I have more important things to worry about than my love life.”

            “Oh yeah, you’ve got your art project coming up, right?  What are you doing it on?”

            “I really wanted to do a piece on astronomy, like the stars and all the different galaxies and nebulae, but my teacher said she wanted actual, tangible objects.  The Met had an exhibit on Greek mythology and I’m drawing some of the artifacts and O’s going to give me background info since she’s really into that stuff, thanks to you.”

            “Hey, when I told her Latin was a dead language, I didn’t think she would turn to the enemy side and learn Greek!  Do you want any _professional_ help on your project?  Even though Rome is my shit, Roman and Greek myths have some similarities.  Like, same gods, but different names.

            Clarke shrugs, “Anything will be helpful.  My teacher basically wants an essay on the things I draw.”

            Bellamy checks his phone for the time.  “I’m free Thursday if you wanna show me what you have so far.  I’ll swing by Joe’s Pizza and come by your place around six.  I’ve gotta ditch early today; a _male_ student wants to discuss some class stuff.”  He rises and gathers their plates and cups.  Clarke grabs her things and his messenger bag and meets him by the door, leading the way out.  The sun is bright and she curses having blue eyes, being more sensitive to the light than Bellamy who has… slipped on a pair of high-end sunglasses and smirks at her.

            “You know, your male student could have a crush on you.  Being gay is a thing.”

            Bellamy’s smirk disappears and he sputters some sort of disagreement.  Clarke laughs as she shoves his bag at him and wraps both arms around his solid frame.  “I’ll see you Thursday then.  Get green peppers on the pizza.”

            He mock salutes her and they climb into their respective vehicles.

 

-

            “Honey, I’m home!” Clarke calls when she closes her apartment door.  She tosses her keys on the little table and stops by her room to dump her backpack.  There’s no answer and no sign of –

            The front door opens and slams and Raven’s voice fills the entire apartment, Octavia’s laughter soon follows.

            “So then Wick went to pick up his wrench and it was covered in fresh superglue, like the industrial kind.”

            Clarke finds them in the kitchen, a dozen grocery bags littering the countertop.  Octavia has her back to Clarke and her shoulders are shaking, her words slurred by laughter.  “Oh god, you didn’t-”

            Clarke smiles fondly at the sight and joins them, eliciting squeals and hugs from both.  Standing there, surrounded by her best friends, she can’t imagine anything better.  They start putting the food away and when Clarke comments on the excessive amount of avocados – there are seven – Raven throws her hands up and grumbles to Octavia, “I told you we only needed three.”

            Octavia reaches for the one in Clarke’s hand.  “I actually wanted some for myself, so thanks for buying them.”

            Raven gasps and whips one of the hand towels at Octavia’s thigh.  The snap is loud and vicious.  She’ll have an angry mark soon.  “I had to pay for those with my money and they were not cheap!”  Clarke drops the avocados and seeks refuge in her room, Octavia on her heels.  They collapse on the bed, the latter twisting around to inspect her leg.

            Raven bursts into the room and lets out a mighty war cry, holding two towels.  Clarke and Octavia start throwing pillows when she charges them.  Raven is no match against four pillows and she drops the towels, opting to pounce on the bed, squishing the two.  Clarke wiggles around until she can slip off the bed.  She digs through her desk drawers and settles down on the floor, an old sketchpad and pencil in her hand.  She begins to draw the scene before her.

            This isn’t new.  Raven and Octavia are used to Clarke’s weird moments of inspiration and they’ve often been the subject of her sketches.  Clarke lets their chatter wash over her, focusing instead on the deep laugh lines that bracket Octavia’s mouth.  She captures the glint in Raven’s eyes.  Before she knows it, an hour has passed and she has a rough sketch of her best friends.

            Clarke’s phone rings.  It’s her mom, most likely her weekly check in.  She tosses her sketchpad on the bed for them to gawk over and admire, and closes the door behind her.

            “Hey, mom.”

            “Clarke.  How are things?”

            She can hear the click of a door, can picture her mom flopping onto one of the couches in her office.  “Great, I think.  I met with Bellamy for lunch and he offered to help me with my project.”

            “I wish you’d consider meeting with Dr. Brown and talking with him.  He’s extremely knowledgeable about the ancient times and it wouldn’t be difficult to contact him.”

            Clarke rolls her eyes; glad Abby can’t see her.  “I know, I know.  I’ve got it covered though.  How’s work?”

            “The usual.  I had a couple meetings with board members earlier and I’m in the emergency room the rest of today until seven.”

            “Nothing new,” Clarke murmurs.  “Remember to take some breaks, or you’ll wear yourself out and I’ll really miss our bi-monthly dinners.”

            Abby chuckles and makes a sound of agreement.  “Do you need any money for rent or groceries?”

            “No, thanks.  Being a Starbucks barista pays surprisingly well and I’ve been getting a lot of hours in.”

            “Alright, but if you need any-”

            “Don’t be afraid to ask, I know, mom.”  Clarke opens the fridge and pours a glass of Naked juice, Green Machine.

            “Did you see the obituary I sent you about Harris O’Neal passing?”

            “Yeah.  Dad’s old friend from high school, right?”

            “Yes.  The funeral is in a couple days and I’m going.  I know you only met Harris once at dad’s funeral, but you’re welcome to come if you’d like.”

            Clarke sips her juice, buying time.  Jake died four years ago when a drunk driver t-boned him on the way home.  She still feels the grief and loss like it was yesterday.  “I’ll think about it,” she hedges.

            They talk a little more and then hang up.  Clarke returns to her room, but it’s empty, the pillows still strewn about.  When she passes by Raven’s room to brush her teeth, she’s pretty sure she hears a muffled, “You’re such an ass.  Now start the movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More setup stuff, kinda picked up the pace. All mistakes are my own. Hope you guys enjoyed


End file.
